


Walk A Mile In Your Faded Red Hoodie

by idgit_with_a_fidget



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Body Swap, It's all Courfeyrac's fault, M/M, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 04:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idgit_with_a_fidget/pseuds/idgit_with_a_fidget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> Grantaire grinned and the feeling was foreign. "Well those muscles aren't used often." He unbuckled the belt so the trousers gaped and glanced down the front of them, grin widening and eyes lighting up, causing Enjolras to blush furiously. "Nice." </i> </p><p>In which Courfeyrac thinks it would be fun to put Jehan's seemingly fake hoodoo to the test and Grantaire ends up in Enjolras' body, just not in the way he had been fantasising about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk A Mile In Your Faded Red Hoodie

Courfeyrac leaned over Jehan's shoulder and peered curiously down at the range of strange, mysterious items packed into skinny bottles and stout old jam jars, gathering dust and cobwebs. When the lithe literary student twisted the lid of one clouded pot and popped it open, a small cloud of ominous -yet sickly sweet smelling - puffed into the air over the kitchen counter of Prouvaire's flat. Courfeyrac wrinkled his nose and Jehan waves his hand to disperse the fog. 

"Just looks like glorified potpourri to me..." Courfeyrac mused, unimpressed by the crushed purple... Whatever it was ( _The cabbage from that salad last week?_ ).   
I  
Jehan shot him a look. "It's more than just dried flowers." 

"Jean, ILY, and I respect your life choices cos I'm your bro, but if you dragged me all the way over here to help you arrange posies then I'm just going to go home. Marius has his girlfriend over and I need to be there with a cold cloth for the kid."

Jehan's lips tightened and he bit the inside of his cheeks. "That's disgusting."

Realisation dawned on Courf's face and he stumbled over his words to justify himself. "I meant for his hands-"

"Courf!"

"Because he gets sweaty hands! You wouldn't want to shake a girl's hand with clammy palms!"

There was a brief pause. "They're still at hand shaking stage?" Jehan asked and Courfeyrac nodded grimly. Jehan rolled his eyes but couldn't help but feel a pang of fondness: good ol' Pontmercy, the most pure of heart and gentlemanly of them all. 

It was a stifling Friday afternoon in Paris. The weather was overcast and drizzly and everyone was pretty bored. The Musain had been closed for renovations and their other hangouts weren't as accommodating, or knew their drink orders by heart. Courfeyrac had suggested a party at his place, with booze, truth or dare and awkward snuggling galore, and whilst everyone agreed - Even the great marble Enjolras who was suffering a Block that was irritating all of them- the proposal wasn't met with any overwhelming enthusiasm. Without classes or coursework for over the summer, they were all surprised at how little a social life they had. Courfeyrac was just on his way to the off-license round the corner when he got a text from Jehan, asking for company. However he got the feeling that he wasn't being great company after all. Jehan didn't seem to mind, though, that was just him being comfortable. He was usually sensitive to Jehan's surges of sadness and balance, but today he was only sensitive to the honeysuckle and musk smell on Jehan's clothes, like an attic that had remained unexplored for a while.

"Is it boodoo?"

"Um, hoodoo?" Jehan corrected, smiling fondly at Courf's tongue tying itself in knots. 

Courfeyrac scowled at him. "Yeah." 

"No."

"What?!" 

"It's not hoodoo." 

"Could it be?" 

Jehan fidgeted. "You know that stuff's not real." 

"Sure it is! People do it all the time! You just crush the stuff up and recite some mumbojumbo and you turn a guy into a frog!" 

Jehan laughed, ringing loud and clear as a bell, so far unaffected by his recent dabbling in smoking whatever it was Bahorel offered him, and kept on taking lids off the jars and bottles and handing them to Courf to sniff and stagger back, repulsed. It was evident Jehan had been harbouring this stuff for a very long time. Soon he explained he had the idea of making his own perfume, because he had come across these jars and there wasn't much else to put his mind to, and Courf was needed as a scent expert. With Jehan's laugh, the topic of hoodoo was reduced to nonsensical babblings on Courf's part about how one of his best friends was a witch in disguise and he'd yet to dose him up with a vial of Love Potion and how that was incredibly unfair. 

Eventually, as the hours ticked by, Courf's enthusiasm didn't drain, and Jehan becoming slowly distracted from his perfume making attempt (that ultimately failed) and more interested in the boyish gleam in his friend's eye when he got lost in thought and the bounce in his dark hair when he fiddled with his thumbs and bobbed on the piano stool pushed across the floor as his chair. His youthfulness was sweet, and Jehan zoned out to what he was saying and just watched.

"So can we try it?" 

Jehan jumped, surprised. "Huh?"

"The boo, uh, hoodoo?"

Jehan sighed and suddenly Courfeyrac was on his knees, grasping Jehan's slim hands in his own and pressing his forehead to the floor. 

"Puh-LEASE Jean Prouvaire! Please! It'll be so much fun!" He pleaded. "And if it doesn't work then it doesn't work and I look like a fool cos you were right."

"I'm always right, and you're always a fool."

"Your fool."

Jehan laughed again and turned pink. He knew Courf was a flirt but it didn't make him feel any less fuzzy in his stomach. Courfeyrac blinked his eyes wide and begging; classic puppy dog. 

"Pretty please?" Jehan rolled his eyes. "Beautiful please?" Courf stood up. "Sexy please?" He said in a low voice and leaned forward, closer and closer until Jehan batted him away playfully. 

"Might be dangerous," Jehan warned.

"Thought it wasn't real?" Courfeyrac pursed his lips and hopped up onto the counter, perching so he could cup Jehan's jaw and play with the stray baby hair around his ears and on the nape of his neck. Goosebumps raised on the Romantics skin and Courf couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. 

Jehan thought for a moment. 

"You get the chalk and board, I get the words?"

Courfeyrac punched the air triumphantly, hugged his friend and ran out of the door to set up the party, and Jehan swore he could hear him shouting and whooping down the street as he went like the ghost or spirit he wished to summon.

**Author's Note:**

> I , uh, don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going so I'm just going to blame the summer heat on this.


End file.
